Game of Thrones: A Lannister and Tarly Story
by Masqueraid
Summary: When Eleanor Tarly catches the eye of a daring, charismatic knight who just happens to win the tournament her family put on, how could she ever refuse his token of affection? Easily, she has enough recklessness of her own to show in life. But do you think that the handsome Lannister will accept her refusal of his love? Not a chance. Join them both in this tale of painful love.
1. Prologue 1

The air was painfully cold as it stormed into her lungs. Each breath was reminiscent to when she was taught how to sew by her nanny as a young child, the needle prickles like the tip of icicles from the North, small in size but carrying enough agility in the wound to send pain spreading like a spiderweb over her nerves. That was how her chest felt now as exhaustion and the winter like air combined. Her feet hit the cobblestone pathway heavily as her adrenaline slowly began to wear out. She was unsure exactly how everything had just happened. Talk with her maids about how she was nervous about her new role as a princess, not just a lady. What that role entailed. The requirement of having heirs to ensure that she would not be traded out for a new, younger woman who would bear _him_ children and continue the blood line. But would _he_ actually do that to her? Did _he_ not love her? Somehow, in between having these thoughts and realizing how much she feared losing him to another woman, Eleanor had found herself outside of the palace and sprinting through the streets.

Now, however, she was faced with another not-so-minor problem; where had these streets led her? To add to the sudden and inexplicable crisis, Eleanor was not a native resident of the city, meaning that she did not even know the basic layout of the buildings. Even the rough location of the castle being unknown to her. When she was unable to push her body forward anymore for cold and lack of energy, the first thing which registered clearly was the glowing light of a tavern at her left side. The smell of meager vegetable and rabbit foot stew was wafting out of the lopsided window frame and out into the slowly thinning crowd of residents returning home, most likely to their own dinners, with their own families, and not having to worry about hunger like Eleanor was beginning to realize she would have to.

When was the last time she ate? For breakfast she had managed to keep down a small amount of freshly baked bread and some ripe, purple grapes, but lunch was another story. Nothing had caught her appetite and she left the table without so much as a tiny morsel passing her lips. It was now dinner, so that meant she was basically empty stomached, and the pain of lack of food was starting to gnaw against her insides. But that was not the worst issue of her predicament. To eat food, you had to buy it, and to buy it, you had to have money. Her own purse was laying neatly on the bedside table dresser in her overly lavish room within the royal residence. Coinless, hopeless, and overall joyless, Eleanor was turning away from the pub when the racket of two drunker men drew her eyes back towards the doorway. They were rowdy and almost surely out of wits for the evening, and had to balance against one another by placing their hands on the other's shoulder to prevent stumbling over. They reminded her of her father when he had too much wine with his supper. This made dread claw at her heart when she picked up on their eyes roaming over her body.

"Well now, what would a cute little filly such as yourself be," one of them started to saying, interrupting himself by engaging in a very rude, very loud belch before continuing with, "doing out here at this time of night?" No one had talked to her in a such a way since her journey from her homeland and, quite frankly, the words make her feel very uncomfortable. Someone speaking to her like that even only a few weeks ago and Eleanor would have laughed them off, but _he_ had taught her what it really meant to be a lady, that woman were precious to society and should be treated as such. With the little dignity she had left after fleeing through the extensive mass of the city, the brown headed girl straightened her posture and looked him dead in the eye, saying in a low, ominous tone, "I am a lady, sir. You will address me as such lest I report you to the Lannisters."

So far, one of them had maintained a tight hold on his tongue, but all of a sudden the fool began to laugh at her. "You? A lady? Pah! Look at you! You are nothing more than a brothel wench who has run away from her masters and is in need of a good lesson for behaving so disobediently. Just by glancing at your clothing would I be able to tell that you are little more than the dirt which I walk on." To put emphasis on his words, the one who had just insulted her gestured to her dress with the almost empty pint in his hands, sacrificing a quarter of the remaining liquid to the ground in order to get her to look at her skirts. They were filthy. Parts of the once bright blue fabric had been torn on wagon spokes and others on lose bricks as she rounded the corners of shops on the main road.

A look of shock much have passed over her face as she took in the sight of her clothing. It made her look so vulnerable. In truth, that was exactly what she was, but on the inside she had not felt that way until now. As the laughter of the two men merged and seemed to turn into something from a type of horror filled play that one might see in the castle courtyard, Eleanor did the only thing she could comprehend as the wisest choice; she ran from them both. Fear of what they might do to her if she lingered was enough to ignite the dwindling spark of adrenaline in her once more and she picked up speed when the started to throw further offensive remarks her way. "Careful you don't trip over, girly. I like it when they're on their knees for me!"

The whole world seemed to preoccupied with sex, and she knew so little. _He_ had engaged in it more often than not, from what she had heard, and even the two men back there had shown their predatory, carnal side, and it was not even the worst that they could have done. Much like her father, if they had the ability to, she was sure they might have raped her. All knowledge she had of the physical pleasure two people may experience was the darker, less willing angles. How was she supposed to please him the way his whores did when she had never been touched in a way that was nice for her? The things he had joked about, strange positions with names and weird things with your tongue, they were like trying to teach her about a book that was written in Dothraki.

There was a crack of thunder and a flash of lightening which drew her from her thoughts only seconds before the rain started to poor down. It was so heavy that soon the pathway had become slippery underneath her feet and she skidded over a worn stretch of dirt, falling backwards and landing on her posterior and elbows. She cried out in pain as her elbows started to bleed and tears started to sting her eyes as she quickly rolled herself onto her side and she pushed back onto her feet. There was no more running. There was no way she could continue in that weather. That and she could hardly breath as her tears became sobs, yet this was not from any physical pain. The way her father dug his nails into her skins and torn at the soft, pale covering of her body to draw blood was rather like the graze on her elbow, and so she was used to it. It was the psychological abuse she was submitting herself to.

A slender, crate filled alley which was being kept partially dry was where she managed to half drag herself into, using the wall of the structure forming the crack to ensure that she did not tumble downwards again. More thunder rumbled from the sky and for the first time since the rain started, Eleanor was glad of the noise and the wet. Sliding down to have her knees pulled up to her chest, out of the wind for the most part in her little hiding hole, the thought of how she could cry without interruption was something which ran through her mind. No one could see her rocking back and forth on the spot, her head hitting the hard surface of the closed shop behind her and starting to hurt, the tears pouring over her usually cheerful and smiling face. No one could see her for how she really was. A scared, frightened girl, who had no idea how to get through her life without failing.


	2. Author's Note 1

**I am happy to answer any questions or take into consideration any suggestions a reader may have about the work. If you have an idea you would like to see in the writing, feel free to inform me of your thoughts. I am hoping to write a chapter at least once a week and plan on updating this work frequently, therefore I hope you enjoy what I have to offer you all.**


	3. Prologue 2

Weather was funny in the lands she lived in. The atmosphere was filled with magic in some ways and it was quick to change to suit the mood of Fate. The sky had suddenly become an angry storm with the new events, and the grey clouds circling above were the personification of Eleanor's emotions. Rage and upset, clashing together, sending pained and saddened rain down from the puffs of mist to wet her cheeks, her own tears not permitted to do so - she just could not, would not, allow herself to cry. It was strictly forbidden. It was a weakness which gave away how truly human she was. People already saw her as a bit fragile, and while that was more in regards to her mental stability, that just gave her all the more reason to not prove that she was weak physically as well. At least holding in her tears was some small sign of victory against being a mere mortal.

Yet, despite her attempts to hide her pain, it still felt like there was a knife was balancing precariously upon its tip against her heart, each jagged step into the muddy ground causing it to jolt and dig into her a little bit more each time. That is how she felt. Her emotions were running wild and the hurt was becoming unbearable. One wrong move by the love whom she was so worried about and the blade would penetrate deep into what care she had left, killing her internally and leaving her father an empty husk to use with as he pleased, the metaphorical weapon turning into fulfillment on both the death her lover faced and the threats of her so called parent from long ago.

Life and death were both on the line here, and while she would generally be more than reckless with her own well being, there was no was she could return to her old life. Not after having experienced what it was truly like to live without fear. All her days before meeting _him_ , every night where she lay awake in fear of hearing her door open, was like she had been wearing a mask. She had been putting on a show for others to see, while behind the scenes of the elaborate acting, everything was falling apart. No longer would she be able to keep the curtain from parting to show her inner strength was a lie. _He_ had taught her about happiness. _He_ had taught her how to live so that if she died tomorrow there would be no regrets. Now it was him who faced an early passing from this world, and it he did indeed fail the task he so willingly put forward for himself, all she would have is regrets.

"No!" came her high pitched scream, a sound piercing enough to carry over the rambunctious cheering of drunken bystanders around her. She saw this in the startled jumps of their sloth like forms and feeling their stares as eyes turned towards the cause of the noise which had interrupted their evening entertainment. They repulsed her. They disgusted her to where she was almost physically ill when those feelings were combined with the worry and grief she already harbored. Yet, despite their idiocy at cheering on such a barbaric tradition, they were quick to part and form a path for the girl as she barreled through the swarming mass of men, edging closer towards the inner ring of spectators which were loyal to her father.

Why had it taken this long for her to realize that she loved him? _He_ had done so much for her. Taught her the ways of life. Showed her that there was such a thing as a normal, happy family. Kept her safe and put himself at risk to do so. Dried her tears when she was sad, laughed alongside her when she was happy. So many things. But perhaps this was a better late than never scenario, as here she was, fighting against a pair of strong arms which wound around her waist to keep her from interfering in the duel, tears still threatening to spill down her face in fear of losing the man she was to marry. Staying strong for her sisters, staying from for him, were the only reasons the tears did not rush to meet their cousin water on her dewy skin. She _had_ stay strong. "Stop, please! You can not do this!"

Mud from where she tread whilst rushing into the arena was suddenly getting flung about as Eleanor tried to plant a decent kick into her captors knees, a captor she dared not judge as to whether he was keeping her safe or just wanted to see her betrothed injured or killed. Having the hands of a slim ball where _he_ had pulled her close and kissed her but two nights ago made her dry retch. "Let me go," she managed to choke out, sending the back of her heel into his crotch and feeling his grip go somewhat slack. There was some relief in not feeling anything hard where her bare foot planted against his body. That would have been the straw which broke the donkey's back and made her just freak out. Men were such vile creatures in her mind, creatures which took pleasure in harming and using vulnerable woman for their own pleasure, so at least the man keeping her from stopping the duel was not a pervert.

She should have kept quiet about those types of thoughts she had about males. It was idle comments like her small observation of her captor that had raised suspicions from her betrothed, questions which he made her answer, and in turn he comforted her after hearing what she had to say. Every time her father laid a hand on her, the evil man would taunt her, goading her into telling someone about his actions against her, because no one would ever believe her. He was punished for his crimes years ago, her brothers saw to that much. _A pity they did not cut off your hands as well!_ she would spit out at him violently, the bitterness of how she felt about the situation she was in almost palpable on her dry tongue. It all came back to how she was only pretending not to be scared during those times. Always pretending.

"I order you to let me go, I am the princess!" she demanded and wriggled more in the vice like grip that was the arms around her petite form. Using her title was something she never liked to do, but this was an exception, an emergency that required her to show authority even if it made her uncomfortable. There was still a group or men before her eyes which were preventing her from seeing how the fight was progressing, yet if she strained her ears hard enough, the sound of metal clanging against metal could be heard over the din of the spectators. "You are not the princess yet, Lady Tarly, and if things continue to go as they have been, you never will be," came threatening words in her ears which sent a paralytic shiver down her spine.

As if to emphasize his words, Eleanor looked up to see her father's sword raised high in the air, a dull gleam from the eerie lighting of the day reflecting from the blade. She knew that blade so well. More than once her father had threatened to cut her open with it. Now it seemed that he was going to cut her lover. "Father, no!" she cried out loudly as the weapon spliced through the air, the sickening sound of flesh being hewed and blood being spilled surrounding the air as everyone became quiet once more. The telltale thud of a head hitting the muddy ground was what finally broke the wall of her damn and let her tears tumble forward. The prince was dead.


	4. Author's Note 2

**I initially wrote two prologues for this fan fiction, and as I was unable to decide which one to use, I have posted them both and thought I would let you, the readers, decide on the one you prefer.**


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